


My Angel

by cutglasscaress



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angel Will, Hannibal is still Hannibal, Human Hannibal, Hurt/Comfort a la Hannibal, M/M, Manipulation, inspired by a painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 23:12:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5645308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutglasscaress/pseuds/cutglasscaress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>“Be calm, little angel, I do not wish to harm you, but I will break your wings if you do not cease.”</p>
<p>This is enough of a terrible threat to still Will’s struggles.</p>
<p>“I will not be a pet for you, a curiosity you keep caged!” – he practically growls.  But Hannibal is gazing at him with adoration, and Will finds he cannot fathom the man’s motivation.</p>
<p>“Oh, my angel, I would never cage such pure and wondrous violence.  I have never witnessed such magnificence, such delight.  Tell me, how did you feel when you were sinking your sword into his flesh?”<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	My Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this beautiful painting by Aquila Audax
> 
> http://themadknightuniverse.tumblr.com/image/135533432763

 

The first hint is the fresh smell of blood, rich and metallic, drifting towards him on the cold wind as he quietly steps through the trees. Soon he becomes aware of the sounds of struggle, muffled thumps and grunts, and the clang of arms. He comes upon them suddenly in a clearing, their movements swift and deadly. No doubt as to the nature of the combatants, or that no mercy will be given.

They are both injured, that delicious aroma even more enticing this close to its source. But the demon’s wounds are bleeding freely, and his eyes betray his doubts. But his attention cannot dwell there. The other figure draws him in, a lure for his heart’s desires. If he could believe in heaven (and how could he not now?) he would assume that his version of God was indeed presiding over the universe, and had seen fit to bestow a gift. And such a gift. The angel is magnificent in his gory glory, the white of his wings bedazzled with crimson, his sword dripping with it. His eyes shine with unrestrained joyful savagery. He is the most stunning creature Hannibal has ever seen.

There is a moment of tense calm, the quiet beats before death. Then the angel surges forward, the blade sings in its swift thrust, and buries itself deep. Hannibal drinks in the sight at the moment of death, beholds the look of ecstasy in those celestial eyes.

The angel steps back. The sword shivers like a mirage, then disappears. Now he just looks tired, spent. Hannibal notices the panting cloud of breath in the frigid air. There is pain in it, and a hand moves to rest on his side, wincing. It comes away red. The wings fold, the figure lowers himself to the ground with a grunt. He is wounded and exhausted, but no doubt still capable of putting up a fight.

Hannibal would not be who he is now if he did not know when to strike. He is quick and silent, and the angel unaware and unprepared.

 

*********

 

“Let me help you”, even as strong arms lift him from the ground. There is a moment of shock, a tense readiness to fight his way out of this strong embrace, but Hannibal’s measured tones and steady gaze belie the danger. He can heal himself, with a little time, but he is sorely tired, and he has in the past received help from grateful humans. This situation is not unknown to him. He nods his thanks and acquiescence, and allows himself to be carried to the man’s home.

Hannibal gently positions his guest on the bed, ensuring the wings droop freely to the ground. His hunting cabin has seen many arrivals, and he has all he needs to detain them. He is not sure what would work on an angel, but he can be wounded and there is blood (though of a different and distinctly _richer_ scent).

He is quietly delighted when his offer of beef stew is accepted, and wonders if an angel’s palate can perceive the difference. His visitor certainly needs both food and rest, and is not particularly talkative, though he has offered a name. Will. Clearly of no celestial origin, but one he has chosen for himself. Perhaps true names are not to be given so freely. Or maybe he no longer identifies himself with it.

His guest may not say much, but he tells him the stew is delicious.

 

************

 

Hannibal is aware of Will’s gaze on him while he stokes the fire and tends to some necessary tasks around the cabin. He gives the angel peace and quiet, and is rewarded when he sees the eyelids flutter and then close completely not long after. His guest told him he needed only a few hours of sleep to heal, and Hannibal took the opportunity to ensure he would do so deeply. Will’s breathing rhythm steadies and his face relaxes into sleep. Hannibal waits a little longer, then sits in the chair next to the bed, all attention focused on his prize.

This divine creature is a vision even without the allure of violence. Indeed it is hard to reconcile the angelic face with the transcendent savagery he is capable of. Just the memory of it makes Hannibal’s soul sing.

Will’s clothing is torn and caked in blood, most of it his enemy’s. Hannibal cuts it away and burns it. His clothes will fit Will well enough for the present. He bathes him carefully with a warm cloth, but leaves the sluggishly bleeding wound on his side untouched. This is already beginning to close, so he licks it clean, savouring the complex flavour of Will’s blood. The wound begins to bleed fresh again, but only provides a trickle, which he continues to taste until it heals. He creates a new wing in his mind palace to house his angel, with an intricate intimate room to store this particular exquisite experience. Somewhere in the recesses of his memory he unearths the ancient tome he discovered originally in a small monastery in Umbria. He distinctly remembers the section on blood.

 

Hannibal keeps vigil, plans and contingencies unfolding in his mind. These become subject to changes and reviews as the night progresses. Will is having nightmares. Whimpers and utterances and even screams beset his dreams. Hannibal’s fascination increases with every sleep addled sound passing his lips, every reminder of his naked suffering and anguish.

 

******************

 

Will wakes. The cold winter sun is shining through the window onto his newly healed body. Not a trace of his injuries remain, only the sheen of sweat from his nightmares show he will never truly heal.

His eyes open onto Hannibal.

“Did you watch over me all night?” He is frowning, and the assessing gaze is somewhat vigilant.

“I wanted to.”

Will shifts and becomes aware of his nudity, but also clearly of the fact that he is now clean. As he looks back at Hannibal, a little more warily, he is presented with a change of clothing.

“Nothing you wore was salvageable. These will have to do.”

Will nods and thanks him as he dresses. When offered breakfast he wavers for a moment, tempted by the smell, but the threat of conversation hovers over the domestic scene, and he politely declines.

“As you wish.”

Hannibal’s delivery is almost too neutral. He busies himself at the table and does not look directly at Will. There is an almost inaudible sigh, then from the corner of his eye he can see the chair being scraped back as the angel sits. Hannibal quietly plates the dish and pours two cups of rooibos tea. The natural colour of the tisane perfectly hides the additional ingredient.

The atmosphere is a little awkward. Will is clearly uncomfortable and seems set on finishing as quickly as possible. As soon as Hannibal perceives that the tea cup is empty, he addresses his guest.

“I believe I can guess the nature of your nightmares. Tell me, Will, why you torment yourself fighting the pleasure you derive from killing.”

Will almost chokes on the last morsel of food. He levels a look at Hannibal, who appears unperturbed by Will’s quiet seething. The angel pushes himself away from the table and stands up. Barely keeping himself in check he snarls –

“Thank you for the hospitality. I will be leaving now.”

Hannibal keeps his steady gaze on him, completely unfazed.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Will.”

“Is that so?”

The impressive wings unfurl. It may be an attempt to cow his host and remind him what he truly is, but Hannibal is sure it is an unconscious reaction to the situation, Will’s anger causing his wings to tremble with suppressed fury. Hannibal’s eyes light up.

“Magnificent.”

Will grimaces and with a frustrated gesture of dismissal makes for the door. Hannibal is upon him before he can step out. In one fluid movement he grabs his shoulder and spins him round, whips his arms around his waist, trapping him within them. His grip is strong and to his dismay Will finds he cannot break the hold. His innate skills tell him there is no demon blood in the man. Hannibal is apparently human and should be no match for him.

Still locked in the struggle, he is caught by the man’s eyes, sees the naked hunger and smug triumph, and the scattered pieces come together – his body cleaned of his blood, the deep deep red of the tea. Hannibal sees the fear and realisation in those haunting blue eyes, feels the redoubled efforts, now somewhat panicked, to break his hold.

“Be calm, little angel, I do not wish to harm you, but I will break your wings if you do not cease.”

This is enough of a terrible threat to still Will’s struggles.

“I will not be a pet for you, a curiosity you keep caged!” – he practically growls. But Hannibal is gazing at him with adoration, and Will finds he cannot fathom the man’s motivation.

“Oh, my angel, I would never cage such pure and wondrous violence. I have never witnessed such magnificence, such delight. Tell me, how did you feel when you were sinking your sword into his flesh?”

Hannibal revels in the array of emotions flitting over Will’s expressive face. For a moment he seems overwhelmed by them all, but aware of Hannibal’s curious fascination his anger is stoked anew.

“ _You_ delight. _I_ protect mortals.”

“How long have you been fighting these demons?”

Will frowns. He had stopped trying to remember what his eternal life had been like before. There was pain in that recollection, and he had enough of that on this earthly plane.

“... a long time.”

Hannibal is all calm control, his angel skittering energy.

“When did you last see heaven?”

Will’s uncertainty increases. Hannibal’s arms are still caging him, though not holding so tightly. He leans in further and whispers –

“And how long since you’ve stopped missing it?”

Will looks horrified. “I... it’s not... I cannot go back until I’m called.”

“That is not what I asked. Please answer my question.”

Will narrows his eyes and angrily responds – “Of course I miss it! Do you think I wish to spend eternity killing demons?”

Hannibal looks as if the very concept of eternally killing is his idea of heaven, but then the maroon eyes pin Will with a chilling gaze.

“Please don’t lie to me. I will not abide that.”

Will is incensed – “I am not lying!”

“I see. You are deceiving yourself.” – He tilts his head a little, considering – “Or trying to. I can see that some suspicion of the truth has plagued your thoughts. When did those doubts first surface, my sweet angel? It must be hard to have to admit as an agent of the light to be so tainted. Tell me, Will, did you always feel that savage joy when the blade slides in?”

Will is completely distraught now. Hannibal knows he has hit him where he is most weak. Will struggles in his arms, but Hannibal shushes him, holding him and whispering in a tone which should be soothing if not for the words uttered.

“When was the last time you had contact with one of your own? Do you think by then they perceived the taint in you? Or did they send you here because of it?”

“Stop it!” As tears stream down Will’s cheeks Hannibal holds him in a tender embrace.

“You have adapted, evolved, become. You are perfect for this world. You no longer belong with them.”

Will feels lost and bereft. Everything he clung to has been shown to be flawed, all self deception has been stripped away, leaving him to his own anguished demons.

His own body betrays his weakness, frozen in the struggle to push Hannibal away and instead holding onto him as if solace were to be found there, rather than this dark mirror reflecting his own nature. Hannibal represents everything he should reject. Should.

But Hannibal strokes his hair and gently manoeuvres him to lay his head upon his chest, and Will goes with it. He hasn’t the strength to fight this, and the comfort, however twisted, is real. He is so very tired and infinitely lonely. He sighs. He cannot see Hannibal’s smile, but he knows it’s there.

 

 


End file.
